


when i was done dying

by carrionkid



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, I'm just smashing the movie and comics together, Post-Canon, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 00:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14726816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionkid/pseuds/carrionkid
Summary: i never thought i'd say this but i'm glad the benjamin russell debacle happened. the premise here is simple: shatterstar has died. spiral won't stand for that. despite shatterstar's old body being destroyed, there's still the body of benjamin russell. title is from the dan deacon song of the same name.--Shatterstar does not remember much.Experience has taught him that gaps in his memory are not usually indicative of anything good.He will not allow himself to panic as that will impact his judgement.Instead, he tries to recall the course of events.He remembers joining with a team. The team was disorganized and inefficient but the mission was easy enough. It should not have been an issue.





	when i was done dying

Shatterstar does not remember much.

 

Experience has taught him that gaps in his memory are not usually indicative of anything good.

 

He will not allow himself to panic as that will impact his judgement.

 

Instead, he tries to recall the course of events.

 

He remembers joining with a team. The team was disorganized and inefficient but the mission was easy enough. It should not have been an issue.

 

He remembers the convoy, the airdrop.

 

What he doesn’t remember is why he agreed to the airdrop. Nothing about the choice makes sense, his bones are hollow. There are too many uncontrollable variables on any mission where he isn’t running ground support.

 

The memories end there. Try as he might, he can find nothing, not even static.

 

He stays still, listening for any movement in the room. It would be unpleasant to be caught unaware, especially when he can’t remember how he got here, much less where _here_ even is.

 

It does not smell like home.

 

He hears nothing outside of the constant whir of an air conditioner, electricity whining from the wall plugs, footsteps muffled through a wall.

 

Deciding its safe enough to make it obvious that he’s awake, he opens his eyes. There are no lights on in the room, but that is not a problem. It is decorated sparsely; there is nothing on the walls, the only furniture seems to be the bed he is lying in and a chair at the bed’s side.

 

There are no windows, no other exit than the door parallel to the end of the bed. He does not like rooms that only have the option of one exit. Still, no one has come to confront him now that he’s awake. If he is to move, now is the perfect time.

 

He sits up carefully, attempting to complete the action with minimal noise. When he tries to stand, his traitorous legs give out. He attempts to catch himself as quietly as he can but his body does not seem to be moving _correctly._

 

The door opens; the light from the hallway is making an ache build behind his eyes. In the doorway is a woman, dark hair, carries herself like he does.

 

Once she steps into the room and shuts the door behind her, it becomes clear that the woman is a mask. The black outline of her arms splits into three, solidifying into flesh as the dark hair melts into white. Her blank eyes give off the only light in the room other than the strip in the gap between the door and the floor.

 

“ _Fekt,_ ” he hisses.

 

If Spiral is here, if Spiral has _found_ him, it would explain the gap in his memory.

 

This is not the type of place he is used to waking up in during this situation.

 

The unexpected is always more dangerous and he is not prepared, has not been prepared for a long time.

 

He has become lazy and comfortable in the belief that he was finally free.

 

“So you have found me again, yes?”

 

He braces himself, trying to stand again, only to be met by Spiral extending a hand to him.

 

“Do not act as if you wish to _help_ me,” he growls, glaring at the hand, still held out as if it’s an invitation.

 

“Be careful,” Spiral doesn’t raise her voice above a whisper, “It’ll take a few days for you to acclimate.”

 

He is curious as to what he must _acclimate,_ but not curious enough to consider asking Spiral.

 

“I can only protect this room,” Spiral says, “Don’t leave it. Should you cross the boundary, Mojo will be able to find you again.”

 

The amount of unexpected variables he has been confronted with is irritating. Shatterstar pulls himself up into the bed. It is a demeaning action, but not nearly as demeaning as allowing Spiral to help him up.

 

She looks at him, face bearing an expression he cannot comprehend, then leaves without another word.

 

There is not much to do in the room but he does not want to risk _leaving._ He has always been good, but not so good as to avoid falling into superstition. There is power in promise, and he knows well enough that if Spiral was lying about Mojo not knowing where he is, he would not be in a room with a _bed._ He would not be in a room _at all_ . He would be in a _cage._

 

His body will not move in the way he needs or wants it to. It is not something he’s used to; his body has always moved exactly as it was commanded to. It’s as if he is out of sync with it, self shifted out of place with body.

 

“What did you do to me?” Shatterstar asks the open air, deciding to compromise his pride, “I know you are listening.”

 

_I saved you._

 

Spiral’s voice claws its way into his head.

 

He is usually better at shielding against telepathic interference, but it does not seem as if many things are going his way. He does not attempt to block her out, but the sound of someone unfamiliar within his mind makes him roll his shoulders reflexively.

 

“Saved me from what, exactly?”

 

_Stop talking to me._

 

Spiral speaks quickly, words shortened to the point of sharpness. Annoyance. He finds satisfaction in the fact that Spiral is being forced to endure the same torturous feeling he is currently caught in.

 

_I’m trying to help you. Which is hard to do when you keep talking to me. Mojo will notice that I’m distracted._

 

Shatterstar is fairly certain Mojo does not notice much outside of himself and his property. Though, if Mojo is looking for him, it means that he has grown tired of whatever new toy managed to hold his attention since Shatterstar escaped.

 

Spiral falls silent. It’s an opportunity for him to attempt getting out of the bed again.

 

He’s still uncertain as to what was meant by him needing to _acclimate_ but something is strange. Unplaceable and _annoying_.

 

Standing is still unsteady and uncertain. He settles down on his knees slowly, leaning forward until his palms press into the cold floor. Push-ups are familiar, muscle memory scored into every fiber of his body, without relying on the continued capability to stand.

 

It feels good to be moving, it feels familiar and the feeling of desynchronization is less present. He falls into a good pace, one that can easily be maintained for a prolonged length of time, and lets his eyes unfocus, static flecked darkness washing over him.

 

* * *

 

He is uncertain how much time has passed when the door to the room opens again.

 

The light clicks on, but his eyes adjust far quicker than a human’s.

 

It is safe to assume that Spiral is the one in the doorway as he has not been attacked. Shatterstar sits up, back against the wall out of habit, though he knows that Spiral can twist the world around them as she sees fit.

 

“What did you do to me?”

 

He is not satisfied letting the matter drop without an answer.

 

“I told you,” Spiral takes a seat on the bed, “I saved you.”

 

“From what?”

 

Spiral frowns, brows furrowed in a way that seems to suggest she is sad. It’s a perplexing action, one that doesn’t align with Shatterstar’s understanding of Spiral.

 

“How much do you remember?”

 

He does not want to answer, but he wants Spiral to _explain._

 

“I do not remember much,” he says, “There was an airdrop, which I assume you had knowledge of. That is the extent of my memory.”

 

Spiral frowns, two sets of hands folded in her lap, the other set is braced against the bed, “You don’t remember?”

 

“Remember _what?_ ” He snarls, this is becoming tedious.

 

“Remember dying.”

 

It is impossible to accept the statement as true.

 

It has to be some attempt on Spiral’s behalf to twist his thoughts, to make him uncertain and hesitant.

 

He should have attacked her, she is vulnerable sitting like this. Unfortunately, he is also vulnerable, still moving strangely.

 

He does not remember dying.

 

He is also fairly certain that he would _remember_ dying.

 

Despite those facts, there is still an undeniable gap in his memory, a point during which anything may have happened, including potentially dying.

 

“Apparently not,” he is becoming tired of Spiral’s stalling.

 

“You were dead,” Spiral whispers, her voice is even, making it harder to interpret the meaning of, “Your body was destroyed.”

 

“Obviously my body was not destroyed.”

 

“Be _patient._ I’m explaining.”

 

Shatterstar crosses his arms, watching Spiral carefully.

 

She continues, “Your body was destroyed. It was an anomaly, one I don’t fully understand. You were lucky I could gather your _Uemeur_ , you were lucky I had a chance to do what must be done.”

 

“What body am I in?” He growls out.

 

Spiral looks down at her lap, seemingly unwilling to answer.

 

Shatterstar stands, bracing against the wall, “ _What body am I in?”_

 

“He will not be missed,” Spiral sighs, “Even before he was comatose, he was not missed.”

 

His fingers tangle in his hair, still long enough to be familiar, nails pressed against his scalp, “Who _is this?!_ ”

 

Spiral stands, stepping towards him. He’s already pressed up against the wall which does not leave him much space to run.

 

“You need to calm down, I am _trying_ to hide you.”

 

“Who is this? What did you do to him?”

 

Shatterstar claws at the soft flesh of the body’s arm; it is a pointless action but worth trying to see if he can pull away the feeling of foreignness.

 

“His name was Benjamin Russell. He was a runaway. He was never going to wake up, no one ever went looking for him, I _know_ this.”

 

Shatterstar can feel the coolness of the wall against his back, body still on edge as if he has anywhere to run.

 

“He was an anomaly. I know much about what has happened, what will, what could. I kept returning to him, year after year he slipped into the dance. I didn’t know what his purpose was, until you were killed.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” Shatterstar slides down against the wall until he’s seated again, “Why are you _helping?”_

 

“I have to.”

 

He still has questions, but he is no longer interested in giving Spiral any more information regarding his life. There is a strange peace between them for now, but that may change without notice.

 

She watches him before walking towards the door, “You should sleep. Your body needs to rest, you are still connecting.”

 

“I have _never_ owned a body, I have _never_ asked to be forced into one.”

 

“The universe needs you alive, Shatterstar. You have much left to do.”

 

Spiral shuts the lights off as she steps from the room, leaving Shatterstar sitting in the darkness.

 

For the first time in his existence, he has something resembling a home that he would like to return to.

 

Of course, there’s a twist. There is _always_ a twist.

 

Now that he has something for which he would fight to protect other than his continued existence, the safest course of action would be to leave.

 

He is a target, already one innocent bystander has been tangled in his blood-quarrel, an innocent whose body now houses him.

 

That knowledge is uncomfortable; the level of discomfort would likely only increase should he actually _know_ the person caught in the crossfire.

 

Deliberation is pointless. If Spiral is to be trusted, it is unsafe to even leave the room. He is used to being locked up, though the previous times have always been physical restraints, boundaries, never ones based on words.

 

He is reluctant to sleep somewhere with which he is so unfamiliar, but the body is fatigued and it would prove to be a deficit if it comes down to combat against Spiral. Shatterstar grabs a blanket off of the bed before tucking himself into the corner of the small room. At least this gives him a good line of sight and offers protection of his back and one side.

 

There is a hospital bracelet around his wrist, one which is almost tight enough to cut into his flesh. The name marked on the bracelet is Benjamin Russell, a reminder that is almost more jarring than the feeling of disconnect between thought and flesh.

 

Shatterstar bites into the plastic, trying to gain the correct leverage to snap it off of his wrist. After working it loose, he lets it drop to the floor then curls tight against the wall.

 

His sleep is restless, constantly interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside of the room. It’s an easy conclusion to draw that he is in a hospital, but that doesn’t offer an explanation as to why Spiral is here.

 

* * *

 

She next enters the room in the shape of an orderly, still with the dark hair and flickering mask of a face. She carries food with her, piled on a tray which must be concrete because it remains after the mask is gone. Setting it in front of him, she takes a seat on the floor.

 

The feeling of hunger outweighs the feeling of suspicion and he pulls the tray closer. Shatterstar eats quickly, eyes on her the entire time. She remains motionless, face still unreadable as she watches him in response.

 

When he sets the tray down, she finally moves to speak.

 

“You’ll be able to leave in two hours. I found a point in which Mojo can confront Longshot without disturbing the dance. His mind will not be on you in that moment. I can’t stay here for long, but I will bring you clothing soon.”

 

She takes the tray, stepping from the room.

 

This gives him two hours to prepare. He is uncertain for what he must prepare, but it is a place to start. Shatterstar paces the room, his movements feel more synchronized, more instantaneous.

 

He is uncertain as to where his swords are, but he runs through the actions of combat regardless. At least his muscle memory appears to still be entirely functional.

 

There is a familiar ache building under his flesh; it’s a product of finally having the freedom train after so long. Spiral returns. She drops a set of folded clothes on the bed.

 

“Where are my swords?”

 

Spiral looks away, gaze falling to the floor, “I don’t have them.”

 

“Why?” He gives her a dark look, eyes narrowed.

 

“There was nothing left of you other than your _Uemeur.”_

 

The loss of the swords, of the jacket, stings more than the loss of the body. The latter is one which was never asked for, never wanted.

 

After he is dressed in civilian clothing, Spiral steps closer. He does not react; this tense alliance seems to be holding.

 

“After I’ve left, you _must_ wait. I have balanced this very carefully and we cannot be in the same time when you leave this room.”

 

He nods.

 

“Your signature is strange now. Mojo will pick up on the change, on the absence of the older signature, but it will take time. Use it wisely.”

 

This implies there is a possibility that Shatterstar will not have to move on, to _flee._ At least, not immediately.

 

He manages to hold his composure while Spiral puts her hands against his face, touching his cheeks with the set that is still flesh.

 

“Take care of him,” she whispers, looking down at Shatterstar as she runs her fingers along his face, “Keep him safe.”

 

It looks as if there are tears in her eyes and he finds himself uncertain of whether Spiral is speaking to Shatterstar or Benjamin Russell.

 

Perhaps it is both.


End file.
